


The Winning Hand

by Nikkusama



Series: Keys and Locks [3]
Category: The Sexy Brutale (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkusama/pseuds/Nikkusama
Summary: Practically a drabble, this is a small glimpse of life after the Brutale for Redd and Greyson. Might expand it if the mood takes :)
Relationships: Greyson Grayson/Redd Rockridge
Series: Keys and Locks [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/856444
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Winning Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rydain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rydain/gifts).



Redd opened the French windows and leant on the cast iron balcony, taking in the view with a proprietary air. From their flat, set in the gleaming white façade of Belgravia, the view was almost an idyllic panorama of upper-crust life. Unlike the Brutale, which was intentionally built deep in the rural Oxfordshire countryside, this was unmistakably London; people milled around outside, couples walking arm in arm unaware of anything except each other, families taking advantage of the recent snowfall as they headed for the nearby park. 

It had already been six months since moving out of the Brutale, and he had yet to feel fully adjusted to his new life and his role within it. Suddenly becoming a kept gentleman of leisure – Greyson was undoubtedly the one with the money- had been quite a shock to the system, and very nearly an unpleasant one. After the initial whirlwind of moving had passed he’d been faced with a more delicate adjustment as he came to terms with not needing to work long shifts to maintain his lifestyle, his time entirely his own to fill as he pleased. 

Luckily Greyson had either anticipated the problem, or had picked up on his unease quickly enough, that after a week or two of moping a small upright piano had been delivered and installed in their living room, along with the encouragement to pursue a regular schedule in playing for an audience. Despite his initial reluctance Redd found that he quite enjoyed reprising his role as an accompanist for the up-and—coming singers flooding to London, and more importantly, it gave him a sense of focus and impetus to improve. 

True to his word, Greyson had made a concerted effort to stay on the straight and narrow. Not that they needed the money – Redd had almost balked when he learned just how much of a nest-egg Greyson had tucked away – but over the past few months Redd realised that Greyson needed to keep occupied to prevent him from getting bored. A bored Greyson led to risky behaviour, and he’d been trying hard to stop those habits from resurfacing. 

“You alright there, old boy?” Greyson asked, his deep voice cutting through Redd’s reverie. Redd smiled, turning to face him.

“I was just admiring the view.”

“And what were you doing at the window?” Greyson grinned back at him. He was still bundled up for the weather with his large overcoat buttoned up and a scarf wrapped around his neck, though he was already peeling back his black leather gloves in the warmth of the flat. 

London life suited him; he seemed almost radiant, exuberant as he flitted between one consultancy and another. 

“When did you get back?” Redd asked, closing the doors once again, lest he let out all of the heat. The last thing he wanted was another lecture from Mrs Maher. 

“Just now. The presentation to Mr. Petworth was a huge success; he has asked for a full consultancy of his country home. It will mean working on location for a month or so, but as my associate your presence is also expected, if you wanted a break.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Redd took a few steps towards him and pecked him on the lips. “Maybe we could celebrate tonight, if you would like? There’s a new restaurant in Soho I quite fancy the look of.” 

“Of course we’ll need to properly celebrate! Dinner sounds wonderful.” Greyson wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his body to Redd’s as he kissed him deeply. 

There was a polite knock at the living room door. Redd sprung away from him, feeling guilty. He still wasn’t used to the live–in staff; they seemed much more involved, somehow, than the plethora of servants that all but ran the casino-mansion. Of course they undoubtedly knew of the nature of their relationship; Mrs Maher knew Redd didn’t sleep in his bed, and in any case had seen them closer than what was proper, and Mr Douglas made enough arrangements for Greyson to know all manner of details about his employer, but it still made Redd recoil suddenly when one of them would appear in the room when he had expected to be alone. 

“Afternoon post, Mr. Rockridge, Mr. Grayson” an elderly voice intoned. Mr. Douglas, a stocky man in his late fifties, strode into the room and placed a few letters onto a tray onto Greyson’s desk. He nodded politely to Redd as he fought to contain his blush. Greyson had assured him that Mr. Douglas didn’t care; it was one of the reasons Greyson had claimed to have employed him all those years ago – he needed someone discrete for all manner of his old business. The same could be applied to Mrs. Maher, who, as a no-nonsense woman of a certain age, needed to be able to turn a blind eye if he brought home someone notable’s wife, or daughter, or in some cases, son. 

“Anything interesting?” Greyson asked as he continued to remove his outwear. My Douglas neatly took his coat, scarves and gloves.

“Yes, sir. I believe it is the anticipated invitation to the Jones’ soiree next week. I shall have your suits pressed in anticipation, sirs.”

“Oh, good.” Greyson said as Mr Douglas left the room. He cast Redd a side-eyed look. “If I remember correctly, Miss Felicity had taken quite a liking to you.”

Redd rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. She wasn’t exactly subtle in making her intentions known, and her mother was hardly much better. The last time we were there I lost count of the number of times she tried to orchestrate the two of us being in the same room alone together.” 

Greyson laughed. “Poor girl.” 

“Poor me! And you were no help – you practically encouraged her!”

“I think she has excellent tastes; who am I to argue with her when she confides in me that she finds you “completely mesmerising” and she would love to get to know you better? I know you very well, and I agree with her assessment.” 

“Yes, but now people will accuse me of leading her on!”

“Redd Rockridge, the heartbreaker. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. If you‘re going to get a reputation, it might as well be that one. It is hardly as though you can correct her, is it?”

Redd opened his mouth to protest but Greyson silenced him with a kiss. “Don’t worry so much about what other people think, my dear fellow,” he murmured. “With our situation we should see every wrong assumption as a godsend.”

“I suppose.” Redd conceded, relaxing into Greyson’s embrace. “So tell me more about this consultation.”

“Mr Petworth – though I am firmly of the opinion that Mrs Petworth is behind the final decision; she is an imminently sensible woman- has finally accepted that he needs to keep up with the times, have more security than a hidden panel in his study to keep his valuables.”

Greyson broke away from their embrace to sit as his desk. 

“And what valuables does he have?” 

“The odd piece of jewellery, a few bonds, but I do believe the chap is famous for his collection of rare books and manuscripts. I imagine it is those he’ll want to keep his eye on.” 

“Books?”

“I thought that would interest you. Apparently his library is a thing to behold.” Greyson was grinning, already knowing Redd so well as to take the invitation as a given. Redd smiled at him, giving into the slight glint of mischief there. 

“You know, I think I will accompany you on your consultancy.”

“I thought you might.”


End file.
